


Rain

by fickleminder



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Gen, Guardian Angels, Mystery, Original Character(s), Post S2 AU, Supernatural Elements, slight Johnlock if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-24
Updated: 2013-10-05
Packaged: 2017-12-24 12:28:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/940017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fickleminder/pseuds/fickleminder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has friends in high places. When he learns the truth about The Fall and decides to disappear, not even Mycroft can find him. It will take time before he feels ready to face his life – and Sherlock – again. Post S2 AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ground Zero (Prologue)

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this a long time ago, thought I'd post it up before Season 3 comes out in 2014.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own BBC Sherlock.

John wonders when it all began.

Was it when fate led him to chance upon Mike Stanford, who first introduced  _him_  into his life? Maybe it was when he stood frozen, paralyzed and rooted to the ground, watching helplessly as  _he_  jumped off the roof of St. Bart's and plummeted, impacting the pavement with a sickening, gut-wrenching crack. Or perhaps it was when he stared down impassively at the corpse at his feet, physically numb but an emotional whirlwind of chaotic mess, gun in steady hand smoking from the discharge of a bullet not ten seconds ago.

John wonders when it all began, and he barely registers that his body has moved of its own accord to leave the shady alley, taking care to sidestep the growing pool of blood on the ground lest the Yard discovers the murderer's –  _his_  (he may have been the one to pull the trigger, but  _he_  was the one who had killed his heart) – footprints, and make the cold, lonely trek back to 221B Baker Street.

He takes the route he has been taking for the past two years or so, the one that allows him to slip past Mycroft's ever-watchful surveillance cameras. Thanks to  _his_  ridiculous sibling feud, John knows how to move around London mostly undetected. He had learnt from the best after all. All the older Holmes brother will be able to catch are snippets of his journey back to the flat, pieces of a puzzle he will no doubt have little difficulty solving, but John is willing to take what he can get.

John wonders when it all began, and he mentally sifts through the past few years of his life as his body robotically walks on, frantically trying to lose himself in memories of the past. The remnants of happier times slip past his broken psyche, leaving him floundering and drowning in whatever darkness remains. The cracks widen even further when flashes from the alley start to seep through, flooding his mind with acid, reminding him that something has changed, that someone had lied to him, that Sherlock –

The fragile control he has been slowly, painfully building up over the past two years finally disintegrates, allowing memories from the alley to catch up to him and slam hard into his mind, making him double over and clutch his head as the Browning L9A1 slips from now trembling fingers and onto the living room floor. With mild surprise, some part of John notes that he has arrived back at the flat, silent and unnoticed as usual, but maybe with a more reasonable purpose this time. It is the dead of night and it simply will not do to wake dear old Mrs Hudson.

" _He's right, y'know. The lot of them are stupid, running and hiding like cowards while he hunts 'em down."_

Another wave of memories assaults him and he lets out an involuntary gasp, flinching as though someone has socked him in the gut.

" _That bloody detective ain't dead. Last I heard he's in Persia -"_

Shaking violently, John grips his head tighter and fists his hair.

" _How's it feel knownin' yer best mate lied to ya?"_

With everything he has known in the world without  _him_  crashing down and crumbling to pieces before his eyes, John finally collapses and crumples to the floor, unconscious.


	2. Shadows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own BBC Sherlock.

Lestrade lets out an exhausted sigh as he closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, listening to the sounds of his team working behind him.

_John allows the fake smile plastered onto his face to fade into emptiness as he turns away from the clinic and makes his way back to Baker Street._

The sky has yet to light up with dawn, but crime has never had a good sense of time. As much as he is dedicated to keeping the streets of London clean and safe, Lestrade mentally curses the early-rising jogger for calling the Yard about finding a dead body in an alley on his way to the park. Hearing Anderson shouting for him, he takes in another deep breath and steels himself for tackling another case without coffee before ducking under the police tape cordoning off the area and stalking towards his forensics officer.

_The clinic has been some sort of grounding since The Fall. His work is something to throw and lose himself in, to dedicate time and effort in an attempt to pick up the shattered pieces of his soul and fall back onto whatever had been familiar in his life. His colleagues are sympathetic to his situation and extend their proverbial hands in gestures of pity and comfort, but trying to build bridges with a man who had seen his strongest and sturdiest one crumble into dust before his eyes proves futile. They all give up eventually._

It is the fact that the murder takes place in an alley unwatched by surveillance cameras that Lestrade thinks of John. Sherlock's death had hit them hard, but no one had taken it as badly as the doctor. Lestrade thinks of how much John has changed since The Fall. He has become a broken man, the tremor in his hand and the limp in his leg returning with full force, turbulent nightmares ravaging his mind during what little sleep his mind resists but his body inevitably succumbs to. Lestrade thinks of the way John looks like a dead man walking, eyes blank and vacant, existing but not living, speaking (no more than monosyllabic responses) only when spoken to, smiling (falsely) only when dealing with a patient. Even Mycroft is getting frustrated with tracking him as the doctor goes to great lengths to avoid his cameras whenever he sets foot outside Baker Street. It is a clear sign that he wants to be left alone, just as how he has been for the past two years despite their efforts. Even as he is plagued by guilt and remorse, the DI has yet to be fully forgiven by John for doubting his best friend. He does not think Mycroft will ever be pardoned for selling his brother out to Moriarty.

_It is the steadfast doctor in John that keeps him going in his now-colourless life and guilt-trips him out of bed every day with the bitter reminder that even though he cannot fix himself he can still fix others, that he has a job to fix others, that there are people depending on him to fix them. It is the only thing he can do now, since he surprisingly has not sunk that low into depression that he finds himself constantly thinking about the gun he carries around with him everywhere. Not yet, at least. Sarah does not dare to confront him about all the weekends and overtime he has been putting in and all the leave he has not been applying for. John simply ignores her and continues working, refusing to see the symmetry in his poor eating and sleeping habits and dedication to his work, paralleling that of a certain deceased detective._

Sunlight casts shadows onto the body of the dead man in the alley. Upon first glance it appears to be a case of suicide. The corpse lies with a Browning L9A1 in his right hand and a bloody hole in his right temple. But if Lestrade had learnt anything from the great consulting detective he had the honour of calling one of his closest friends, it is that things are not always as they seem.

_Moonlight illuminates the pavement as John trudges back towards the flat, dragging his limping right leg behind him. The clinic has been closed for several hours by then, but he finds some sort of catharsis in the long hours of walking before and after work, the condition of his leg be damned. He is reluctant to return to 221B as there are too many stifling memories that choke him every second he spends in there and although he has contemplated leaving countless times, although he knows Mrs Hudson will not hold anything against him should he choose to vacate the premises, he also knows that she cannot bear to lose both her boys, that he should continue to be that self-sacrificing soul that thinks about others and not himself. With the help of the inner soldier, he wills himself to stay, doing it for his dear landlady, but remains cut off from the rest of the world. His blog has not been updated in over a year._

The gun is unregistered and the victim's clothes are rumpled as though he had been in a fight. There are a few light bruises on his arms and knees. He could have been a drunk who had lost control of his mental facilities, but his clothes do not reek of alcohol. He could have been a homeless who had been driven to the edge of despair, but the fine tailoring of his clothes suggests otherwise.

_The hour is late and the emptiness of the streets leaves no witnesses to the moment when John, lost in his thoughts, finds a firm hand clamping down hard on his mouth and a stocky body dragging him backwards into the inky darkness of the alley next to him. Instinctively the inner soldier comes to life, bursting forth with a surge of energy and a familiar rush of adrenaline as he struggles against his attacker, tremor and limp forgotten._

There is the possibility of murder, but the gun has fingerprints belonging only to the victim and only one shot had been fired. The killer could have used his own gun and planted evidence of suicide, but there are powder burns on the victim's fingers, the bullet embedded in his head matches the unused ones left in the gun and the nearest security camera had recorded the sound of only one gunshot.

_There is no reason why John is unable to break free of his captor's hold, but he cannot be blamed for freezing during an opportune moment to escape when the other man presses the cool barrel of a gun at his temple and laughs hysterically in his ear. John certainly cannot be blamed for remaining as still as possible when he tightens his grip on his gun, the same gun that John has tucked in his waistband, and starts gloating._

Another theory points to the scenario of self-defence, in which whoever the victim could have been accosting overpowers his attacker, grabs his gun and fires, panicking when he discovers his shot had been fatal and arranging the corpse to suggest suicide before fleeing. But Lestrade remembers the set of fingerprints found on the weapon and quickly discards the idea.

_Another taunt flies at him, but this particular one hits home._

" _Look at ya! The loyal dog waitin' fer his master to come back," the man sneers. "How's it feel, Dr Watson? Ain't it pathetic always gettin' left behind all the time?"_

_John tenses and his hands twitch, itching to reach for his gun, but he is in no position to try anything as the man keeps a firm hold on him._

" _He's right, y'know. The lot of them are stupid, running and hiding like cowards while he hunts 'em down. Y'know what I think? The only way to shake Sherlock Holmes off yer tail is t'kill him."_

_At this juncture, John is suddenly glad that someone is grabbing him, albeit with ill-intentions. He thinks his legs will not be able to support his body as his knees buckle, allowing his weight to pull his assailant down a few notches. The man cackles in delight when he notices his wide eyes and sagging frame._

" _I knew it. He ain't told you nothin', did he? Well then, allow me," he crows smugly. "That bloody detective ain't dead. Last I heard he's in Persia, goin' after Jaime and his gang."_

_Words fail John as his mind latches on to the only thing that matters, truth or not:_ _Sherlock is alive_ _. The man gets even more excited and removes the gun from his temple, waving it wildly in the air as he gleefully continues to tear John's world apart. It is a golden chance to break his grip on him and whip out his own Browning L9A1, but John remains transfixed, his shock stunning him into immobility._

" _Moran's got dibs on 'im for killin' the boss, but he didn't say nothin' about the doctor." Here, the man hauls John up by his throat and grins crookedly, returning his gun to John's temple. "So what do y'think, Doc? How's it feel knownin' yer best mate lied to ya?"_

_Something deep stirs within John then, a sense of calm acceptance that steels his core and drowns out the internal cursing about a lost chance to escape. The inner soldier is preparing for attack. Oblivious, the man keeps on talking, mistaking his silence for surrender._

" _Pretty awful, ain't it? Bet you wished you'd offed yerself without havin' to find out, huh mate? Don't worry, I'm here t'help. See this?" He waves the gun in front of John's eyes and aims it at his forehead. "Look familiar? I bet it does. See, here's what gonna happen. I'm gonna use this t'kill ya. Then I'm gonna wipe m'prints and put it in yer hand, make it look like a suicide. And when the Yard finds yer body the next day, they won't ask no questions."_

_The man smiles triumphantly and throws his head back to laugh. "Pretty good, eh? Moriarty sure knew what he was doin' when he recruited me. Ah well, too bad he ain't around no more. I can't wait to see the face on that girl when she sees yer body on her table. Wonder how she's gonna tell Holmes and get 'im to come back an-"_

_John moves._

_He swiftly twists the arm with the gun away from him and grabs at the hand at his throat. Extricating himself from the other man's hold, he pivots on his feet and kicks at the assassin's knees as he tries to recover from the surprise counterattack. John takes a quick swipe at his eyes to blind him as the man stumbles to the ground. Not wanting to prolong the confrontation unnecessarily, he reaches for his gun just as the assassin, with his eyes squinting and his head turned away, flails and blindly points his own gun in John's direction._

Maybe Sherlock was right. They are all idiots. As much as Lestrade's gut tells him there is more to the dead man that meets the eye, everything points to a suicide. Wracking his brain gives him no other clues to suggest otherwise. If the consulting detective was here, he would be mocking their intelligence and hurling abuse at their deductive skills before launching into a detailed explanation painting a completely different picture. But, Lestrade thinks sadly, Sherlock is not here. The sociopath will no longer barge his way into a crime scene uninvited, or insult Anderson and Donovan, or criticise the sloppy methods of the Yard, or steal and withhold evidence, or solves cases in a blaze of glory… God, he misses that crazy man so much. Lestrade cannot imagine what John must be going through.

_Maybe it was coincidence. It could also have been one of those freak accidents or divine intervention, but they both fire simultaneously. A single report sounds out in the night as John's bullet hits the assassin dead in his right temple while the other bullet misses and flies out into the streets. The man falls limp and collapses, sprawled on the ground. With perfectly still hands, John keeps his gun trained on the corpse, unwavering._

Lestrade tells his team to wrap up and sends for people to collect the body. Sighing, he turns away and walks back towards his police car.

_John wonders when it all began._


	3. Turnabout

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own BBC Sherlock.

The politician picks up on the first ring.

"Dr Watson," he greets coolly.

John does not waste time and goes straight to the point.

"Where is Sherlock?"

There is a slight pause before Mycroft Holmes does something that goes completely against the etiquette he had been taught and groomed to display at all times.

He hangs up.

And John knows.

* * *

Sherlock's eyes narrow and he frowns. Leaning forward in his seat, he rests his chin on interlaced fingers and stares resolutely at the ground as he thinks. Sitting across him, Mycroft watches patiently as he searches his mind for any memory of John mentioning that name during their time together.

He comes up with nothing and shakes his head. Mycroft sighs in frustration and prepares to explain, but Sherlock beats him to it.

"You could have contacted me by email, but instead you pay me a visit to ask personally. Surely you have the resources to identify her yourself, unless your people are more incompetent than I thought."

His tone is clipped and sharp with an insult thrown in for good measure, but Mycroft can hear the undercurrent of worry. Sherlock does not disappoint and goes straight to the heart of the issue.

"What has happened to John?" The concern is more evident this time.

"He has disappeared," Mycroft solemnly replies.

"What do you mean 'disappeared'?" Sherlock frowns. "You told me you had eyes watching him. People don't just vanish into thin air."

"Like you did? Sherlock, I had men and cameras on him, yet -"

"Is he dead? Do not lie to me Mycroft. You will not like my reaction to that at all."

"… I don't know."

There is a stunned silence that follows. Sherlock can count, on one hand, the number of times his older brother had admitted he does not know something and after observing how Mycroft seems to have painfully forced his last few words out, it is then that he understands the severity of the situation.

"What about the girl?"

"As of now, she is the only lead we have. Exactly three days before Dr Watson's disappearance, he mentioned her name in the flat. It is the one and only time my cameras have captured a verbal record of it."

"A name isn't much to go on," Sherlock snorts.

"There's more. A girl showed up at the steps of 221B on the day Dr Watson went missing. We believe she is the one he called for. They went out for a walk and…" Mycroft looks uneasy and shifts his gaze away. "They just disappeared. Dropped right off the radar."

"How?" Sherlock questions coldly. "You have cameras monitoring the entire city."

"Not everywhere," Mycroft admits. "There are still many blind spots around London. Dr Watson and his companion walked right into one and never came out. None of the cameras in the perimeter have sighted them since and it is impossible to move from one blind spot to another undetected."

Sherlock is silent as he processes the information. Mycroft looks sympathetic and reaches over to place a comforting hand on his brother's shoulder, a gesture so foreign and long forgotten that Sherlock visibly tenses before slumping slightly into his seat.

"What about facial recognition?" he asks, looking up at Mycroft.

The older Holmes removes his hand and fidgets uncomfortably in his chair. Sherlock's eyes narrow in suspicion and he straightens up to stare determinedly at his brother. He conveys an unspoken message, but Mycroft knows it goes along the lines of "You offered to protect John and provide me with any means necessary to take down Moriarty's web. I don't know what possessed you to do it but don't you dare go back on your word now." Acquiescing to the silent demand, he retrieves a manila folder and slides it across the table. Mycroft is unable to meet Sherlock's eyes as the latter snatches the folder and quickly scans through its contents.

On one page, there is an enlarged photo taken by one of Mycroft's cameras. It shows John and the mystery girl walking towards the park. The doctor looks deep in thought but his companion is staring right at the camera, smiling as if posing for a picture. Her eyes bore into Sherlock's, tinged with deadly promise, and her smile, seemingly soft and innocent, shows a hint of a smirk.

On another page is a profile. The face in the small photo at the top right-hand corner is a splitting image of the smiling one on the previous page, but Sherlock's attention is drawn to the details. Or rather, one detail in particular. It is not the actual name of the girl, as stated in her birth certificate, which does not match the name John calls her.

It is the fact that she has been dead for over ten years.

* * *

The soldier is furious. The doctor tries to rationalise.

_He lied to us._

_We believe in Sherlock Holmes._

_We were partners, but he kept his plans to himself._

_He wouldn't have done it without a reason._

_He could have given us a sign, but he didn't._

_It was Moriarty somehow._

_Mycroft knew, and Molly was in on it as well._

_He was probably threatened, something was preventing him from telling us._

_Mrs Hudson suffered because of him._

_He's our best friend – we're his only friend – he wouldn't do that to us._

_He trusted Molly over us, he didn't believe we could keep his secret._

_But we believed in Sherlock Holmes._

_He abandoned us._

_He could have told us._

_He left us in the dark._

_Instead he chose to work alone._

_He betrayed us._

_He made us suffer._

_He lied to us._

_He lied to us._

_He lied to me._

John is lost in a maelstrom of emotions and thoughts and despite the fight his better side puts up, two years' worth of mourning has taken its toll on the doctor. The soldier rises out of the ashes to take command, but John's soul is still in a fragile state.

The lies start to close in: Mycroft and his cryptic messages and false sympathy; Molly and her sad smiles that never seems to reach her eyes and visible discomfort whenever Sherlock's name is brought up – Who else? Who else has been caught in the web of deceit? Who else had taken part in his faked death and watched the others hurt in his absence?

Suddenly the air becomes thick and John feels as if he is breathing in poison. His mind is hazy and clouded, there is so much confusion, so much anger, so much hurt that threatens to overwhelm him. His world has taken a brutal beating and been violently shoved aside, leaving behind dust and blood and the stench of betrayal and – and –

And John knows he has to leave.

He desperately needs to get out, he cannot stay any longer in 221B lest he loses himself in his grief and anger and goes insane. The doctor feebly reminds him of his patients, but the weight of their problems and their need for him to fix them have become disproportionately outweighed by the truth and what it has done to him. He bloody well deserves to think of himself for once and makes up his mind.

John Watson has to disappear.

But where can he go? Whatever places he can come up with in his current frame of mind is immediately shot down by the soldier, who frustratingly reminds him that Mycroft Holmes will be able to find him no matter how far he travels, no matter how hard he tries to erase his tracks, no matter who he asks to keep his location secret –

A name pops into his mind.

Later, John will learn that it was no coincidence he had thought of his old friend and the promise she had made him, but for now, his mind buzzes with inspiration and his eyes begin to shine with a glimmer of hope that maybe – just maybe – he can pull it off.

Closing his eyes, John thinks of his friend and whispers.

"Carolyn, get me out of here."


	4. Flight (Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own BBC Sherlock.

John spends the first day coming to his decision and, in a sudden fit of enthusiasm, chooses to blatantly disregard the logistical aspects of his idea and just go for it. He spends the second day cleaning the entire flat, trying to make it presentable to potential future tenants. There is a painful twist in his gut as he thinks of Mrs Hudson, but John soldiers on. He is still unable to touch – let alone shift and clean up – Sherlock's belongings, so he decides to leave them be. They are no longer his problem nor concern.

It is during the third day that John begins to falter. The flat is spotless, sans the litter of Sherlock's things. He cannot remember the last time he had cleaned it with such vigour. John finds himself in the midst of packing a duffel bag for travelling when he suddenly stops.

Reality hits home as it dawns on him what he is doing. Tendrils of doubt begin to creep into his mind.

He is acting on a whim, he is going to leave Baker Street, he intends to leave his life behind but he does not know where he will go, he has not given a thought to the clinic or even contacted them to resign, he doubts his bank account will be able to support him as he tries to find a new place to live and –

Three knocks sound from the front door.

John's first thought is that it is Mycroft and he growls softly before picking himself off the floor and heading downstairs. Mrs Hudson is out for the afternoon and though he is not surprised, John nevertheless feels a little unsettled. Leave it to the older Holmes to pinpoint the exact moment he decides to leave and pop by for a chat to convince him otherwise.

It takes John ten steps down the stairs before he remembers that Mycroft never knocks on the door. The government official would have simply swept his way in – in every memory where Mycroft is in the flat, John realises that he does not recall a single time he had waited outside to be allowed entrance. But if it is not Mycroft Holmes at the front door…

Hesitating slightly at the last step, John cautiously reaches for the doorknob. Taking in a deep breath, not knowing who he will see on the other side, he pulls the door open.

John goes pale.

* * *

_The first time he lays eyes on her, she is bleeding out next to a burning building._

_Blood soaks her entire torso, streaming down from two deep gashes in her back, staining her white long-sleeved shirt a crimson red. Her white long skirt does not seem able to last much longer either, not from the way she stumbles about in the rain and mud, trying to put distance between herself and the blazing heat from the fire._

_It does not take a genius to realise that the girl needs immediate medical attention, so John – university student, doctor-in-training – pushes his way through the crowd of curious onlookers from where he has been observing the paramedics work and rushes towards the dark alley she is moving towards. As he approaches, she quickens her pace, gripping the alley walls with her bloody hands as she tries to move faster._

" _Wait!" John yells after her retreating figure. "I'm not going to hurt you!"_

_The girl jumps slightly as she startles at his voice. Panicking, she makes to run but trips after two wobbly steps and falls to the ground with a painful gasp. She turns around and scrambles backwards as John comes nearer._

" _Hey, hey it's okay… I just want to help," he soothes, slowing to a stop as he notices the terror in her face and wide eyes. The girl remains tense and still as John moves towards her and crouches down to her level, holding his umbrella over both of them._

_John may not have graduated from medical school yet, but he still knows a thing or two about assessing injuries. In this case, the blood gushing out of the girl's back is definitely Not Good. She will bleed out if the flow is not stopped soon and if she is not given a transfusion. But she is afraid of him and John does not know if he can get her to trust him enough to help her. That does not mean he is not willing to try._

" _Listen," he says, trying to sound comforting. "I know it hurts, but I can get you to a hospital and the doctors there will help you. There's no need to be scared, everything's going to be okay." John manages a reassuring smile, but it falters when the girl shakes her head fervently._

" _I can't…" she murmurs, looking away. "I can't go to a hospital. They'll find me!"_

_John mentally frowns at her words. Was she a runaway? Was she hiding from the police? What if he was dealing with a criminal?_

_As if reading his mind, the girl shakes her head again. "I'm not a bad person," she says. "I just got… left behind." What about your parents, John wants to ask, but she cuts in with "I'll be okay. It's not so bad. See?"_

_At first he thinks she is referring to her situation, but then the girl turns her back slightly. John cautiously peers over and lets out an involuntary gasp, his umbrella nearly slipping out of his fingers._

_The back of her shirt is torn and shredded and although there is blood staining her body and clothes from shoulder down, her back is smooth. Other than storm-black bruises covering almost half of it, there are no sign of gashes anywhere, not even scars. John cannot find any part where the skin has been broken. He blinks twice and rubs at his eyes. Could he have imagined it? Saw her torn and bloody clothes and assumed she was injured?_

_Under his sharp scrutiny, the girl shifts uncomfortably. Noticing her disconcertion, John quickly backs off to give her space. She makes to sit up but winces as the bruises on her back protest. The flash of pain in her eyes does not escape his watch._

" _Let's get you cleaned up," the words are out of John's mouth before he even thinks about it, surprising both himself and the girl. "You don't want to go to a doctor for medical attention and I'm not about to just leave you here by yourself, especially not in your condition," he says hurriedly. "My apartment's nearby and I just got myself a freshly stocked first-aid kit. You should probably get all that blood off you before you scare someone on the streets."_

_The girl cracks a shy smile. "You're a doctor?" she asks._

" _In-training," John smiles back. "My name's John. John Watson."_

" _Call me Carolyn."_

* * *

During the course of the past three days, there are times when John wonders whether he had already begun to lose his mind. He questions the plea he made after waking up on the floor and struggling to find common ground between the doctor and the soldier. Could he have been so desperate to escape that he had lapsed into wishful thinking? Other times, he wonders if it had been a dream. The incident from his past justifiably seems so surreal and recalling the memory only makes him doubt himself more. John is not surprised to find that he has somewhat forgotten about the debt entirely.

But he cannot ignore the living (not really, strictly speaking) evidence standing before him. Some part of John cheers at the fact that he has not gone insane just yet, but mostly he is shocked by the confirmation. It is a pleasant shock, though John still cannot believe his eyes. The whole thing suddenly feels so surreal all over again and he is barely aware that he is gaping openly and staring with eyes so wide with disbelief.

Carolyn smiles at him with understanding, clearly seeing that there are too many thoughts and emotions swirling around in John's mind for him to form a coherent greeting. Instead, she grins and offers her hand in invitation.

"Come on, let's go for a walk."

* * *

" _Welcome back, John!" chirps Carolyn, poking her head out from the kitchen as he steps through the door into his apartment._

" _Hey Carolyn," John greets pleasantly, toeing off his shoes and pushing them to the side. "I bought Japanese," he says, lifting up two plastic bags with takeaway boxes inside. A bright smile lights up Carolyn's face as she goes to set the table. As John puts down the food and heads to his room to deposit his jacket and bag, he reflects on the slight turn his life had taken._

_It has been two months since he met Carolyn and allowed her to stay at his apartment while she recovers and plans her next move. During that period of time, the soft-spoken Chinese girl has alternated between resting and keeping his apartment clean, despite John's gentle protests. She insists on earning her keep by playing housekeeper in exchange for food and shelter and John finds himself admiring her sense of principle as well as enjoying her company._

_Carolyn keeps a tight lid on her past, clamming up whenever John's curiosity flares up and he asks about it. All he knows is that the twenty year old has a poor relationship with her family and almost no friends – apart from him – to speak of. He cannot help but feel suspicious sometimes, wondering what she is up to in the hours that he is at the university. John has no reason to suspect something is amiss since nothing strange has happened, like things disappearing from his apartment or seeing people lurking around, but his gut tells him that something about Carolyn is off. She assures him that she does not intend to stay with him indefinitely, that she still needs to do something before she can leave, but she does not say what._

_John can only wonder and hope that whatever it is, it will not come back later to haunt him._

* * *

They walk leisurely on the streets of London without any particular destination in mind. No words are exchanged between them, but the silence is more companionable than awkward. John takes the time to think – he seems to be doing a lot of that recently – while Carolyn waits patiently for him to come to terms with the situation before speaking.

"Did you mean it?" she asks.

"What?" John keeps walking, but he turns slightly to face her.

"Your wish," she clarifies. "You wanted me to get you out of here. Did you mean it?"

John falters in his steps as he stares at her incredulously. "You heard me," he whispers in disbelief.

"Of course I did," Carolyn smiles knowingly. "Don't you remember? I made you a promise. It's the least I can do after what you have done for me."

Frowning, John looks away and slows to a stop. Looking worried, Carolyn stills next to him as his mind returns to the issue at hand.

"I would have come within the hour when you called me, but I thought I'd give you a few days to sort through your thoughts first," she explains. "I had to be sure you understood what you really wanted and what you were asking for."

"What are you offering?" John asks, staring determinedly ahead as he resumes walking.

"An escape," Carolyn easily recovers and quickly catches up with him.

"What do you mean?"

"I can take you away. Make you disappear."

"Where?"

"Someplace safe. Somewhere no one will find you."

"Mycroft would," John snorts.

"No he won't," Carolyn replies confidently. "Where I intend to bring you – with your consent, of course – he won't be able to even get a lead."

"Really?" he asks, turning towards her. John is fully aware of who – or rather, what – Carolyn is, so even though he knows the older Holmes is practically the embodiment of the British government itself, he allows himself to hope. But Carolyn can still see a faint trace of doubt lingering and she nods reassuringly.

"I mean it. I can erase you from the face of the Earth, make it as if you've never existed."

"You're serious," John breathes out in awe, eyes wide and shining for the first time in ages.

"Deadly," Carolyn promises gravely.


	5. Flight (Part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own BBC Sherlock.

_The only warning she receives is the slamming of the front door._

_Carolyn straightens up from cleaning the table and turns to greet John, but finds several pieces of paper being thrust into her face._

" _What is this?" John demands, hissing angrily. His face is obscured by the papers, so Carolyn brushes them aside. John releases them and they fall gently to the ground, but her attention is focused on him._

_His face has gone white and his hands are trembling._

_Startled, she moves to ask if he is alright but he shakes his head and takes a step back, almost as if in fear. Furrowing her brows in confusion, she looks down towards the scattered pieces of paper. Phrases and words jump out at her –_

"–  _mental patients in the renowned facility –"_  


"–  _claims of seeing monsters and demons –"_  


"–  _longest-running patient in the ward –"_  


"–  _cause of death unknown –"_  


–  _as well as a faded picture showing the solemn face of a young Asian girl with raven black shoulder-length hair._

_It is Carolyn's face._

" _Explain," John says, trying to keep his tone level. "How is it that I stepped into psychology class this afternoon to find your face on the projector screen as part of a – a case study? It said that you – that Li Si Xin – died two years ago," his voice cracks slightly at the end._

_Carolyn sends him an apologetic look. "Do you trust me?" she asks, locking eyes with John._

_She is not answering his question, but the pleading expression on her face compels him to stop and think for a moment. As much as he is thoroughly freaked out by the fact that there is a supposedly dead girl standing in front of him, she has not given him any solid reason to doubt her. Even so, there is no telling what will happen. Still, John finds himself nodding, albeit hesitantly._

_Carolyn begins to peel off her jacket – she wears it all the time, claiming sensitivity to temperature – and John notices the lumps on her torso underneath her shirt. It is the first time he is seeing them, but before he can ask about the deformities on her body, there is the soft sound of cloth ripping and John sees the lumps moving below her shirt and he is one millisecond away from shouting in alarm when –_

_A pair of snow-white wings flares out from Carolyn's back, filling up half the space in the small flat._

" _Jesus Christ!" John exclaims, backpedalling furiously. Carolyn is silent as his back hits the wall and presses against it in shock. She remains still as he stares at her incredulously, eyes wide and mouth gaping. John blinks once, twice, and shakes his head. Carolyn's guilt-filled eyes shift towards the ground, looking as if she is trying to shrink into herself and hide from him._

_Her wings are by no means massive, but they still tower over her small body. They are being held up strong and high and although John can easily picture her flying with them, he also recognises that something is wrong._

_They are moulting, pretty badly in fact, and it seems as if a gentle breeze will easily blow all the soft feathers away. Carolyn's wing span is impressive, but there is something off about its proportion. John had seen several posters belonging to veterinarian friends detailing the flight features of avian creatures before and as he recalls the information, he realises that her wings will not be able to support her weight in the air._

_Instead of "What the hell are you?" or "Get away from me!", the first words out of John's mouth is a concerned "What happened?"_

_Carolyn's head snaps up in surprise to stare at him. She sees that his hands are still trembling slightly, but there is genuine worry in his eyes. He is afraid of her, yet despite the fear the caring nature of the inner doctor-in-training shines through. It takes Carolyn a few moments to regain her composure and when she does, she lowers her wings and tucks them behind before shyly responding._

" _Do you believe in angels, John?"_

* * *

John is silent as he mentally weighs his options. He does not notice his companion staring at one of Mycroft's surveillance cameras, conveying an unspoken message.

"Tell me more about this place," John says, looking at her.

Carolyn's eyes break away from the camera and lock onto him. "You'll be able to start your life all over again," she explains. "No one there will recognise you or have any connections to the people you know. There are several apartments waiting for tenants to move in and the local hospital's in need of good doctors."

"And how long would I be able to stay?"

"For as long as you like. If you do choose to go, I'll make sure everything's provided for you," Carolyn promises. "And if you find that you don't like it and want to return, I'll bring you straight back to Baker Street, no questions asked."

John slows down as he shoves his hands into his pockets and stares at the ground. Carolyn takes care to match his pace as the doctor considers her offer.

"Do you need more time to think it over?" she asks, holding up her hands. "Because really, there's no rush to decide now. I can come back another day…"

"When can I leave?" John cuts in, attention still focused elsewhere.

Carolyn looks slightly startled, but she answers calmly. "Whenever you're ready to go. Just say the word and I'll take you there."

"I left my bag in my room," John says, a thoughtful expression crossing his face as he raises his head to look at the sky.

"You won't be needing it," Carolyn points out. "Like I said, I'll ensure you'll have everything you need. But if you really want to bring it along, I'll get someone to pick it up for you."

* * *

_John sighs sadly as he leans against the kitchen counter, waiting for the kettle to boil._

_He thinks of the past three weeks, reminiscing the time spent with his other-worldly friend. Even now, the idea still sounds so surreal and if not for the living (not really, strictly speaking) evidence sitting in the armchair reading the newspapers in the living room outside, he would have simply disregarded it with a disbelieving scoff._

_Angels are real. Demons exist._

_A bunch of teenagers belonging to an occult group had gotten their hands on some ritual books and wanted to re-enact several spells in it. By accident they had summoned a demon instead and it would have gotten loose and proceeded to cause greater chaos in the city had the angels not intervened._

_Carolyn had been part of a patrol that fateful day and since no available hunters had been in the vicinity, her team was called in to contain the damage. However, by the time they arrived, all the teenagers were already dead and they found the demon feasting on the blood in the corpses littering the floor of the apartment._

_Long story short, they managed to banish the demon and set fire to the entire building to erase any traces of supernatural activity, but the demon was powerful and during the fight, Carolyn had her wings ripped clean off. Her teammates were able to evacuate the building in time and help her escape, but they could not bring her back with them._

_She had become human. Her back had sealed itself up after her wings were torn off, erasing any trace of her being any physically different from an ordinary twenty year old girl. They would grow back over time and then she could go home, but the process was long and painful. She would have to survive alone on the streets, keep a low profile and stay out of the legal records lest someone matches her identity to a girl whose ashes were supposed to have been scattered into the wind._

_Then John came along, giving her a place to stay and taking care of her. He did not know it at first, but his kindness and friendship had helped her recover much faster. Carolyn does not understand it herself, but she thinks it has something to do with human nature and God. Or perhaps it is because John believes in him. Either way, she cannot give him a definite answer._

_Li Si Xin's story is a little more tragic. She had been born with a special ability to see things, things normal people would not be able to see. Telling her parents only made it worse. They threatened to send her to an asylum unless she ceased her "childish" behaviour, crying about the monsters under her bed, the ghosts in the house and the demons on the streets. She had honestly tried to control herself, but it was difficult to hold back from screaming at night when the ghouls came out to play, from jumping at the sight of blood-red eyes hiding in the shadows of every street she walked down._

_Her concerned parents had taken her to specialists across the globe to seek help for their problematic child but they ended up abandoning her in a mental institute in America. With no way to return back to her homeland, Si Xin stayed there for a decade before dying in her sleep at the age of twenty. The doctors never found the medical cause of her death. Her heart simply slowed and eventually stopped beating._

_Carolyn told John that she had been in the neighbourhood at the time and came across Si Xin screaming in her room, cowering in a corner. The poor girl was facing literal demons all alone, the staff having been told that her nightly episodes were natural occurrences. It was easy work taking care of them – they were weak creatures who fed on the darkness and fear abundant in her room – but the difficult part came afterwards._

_There was a solemn expression on Carolyn's face when she recounted the way Si Xin clung on to the angel like a lifeline, refusing to let go or return to her bed. There was a slight tremor in her words when she told John how the young Chinese girl begged her to make it stop, to protect her from the monsters and demons that have haunted her for as long as she could remember. But Si Xin's ability could not be simply erased. She was destined to live with her cursed sight and as much as Carolyn took pity on her and wanted to appoint her a guardian angel – herself included – she did not the power nor authority to do so. However, there was one thing she could do to free her._

_John noticed tears threatening to spill over Carolyn's cheeks as she described the way she cradled Si Xin in her arms and rocked her to sleep, stroking her hair and singing soft lullabies as her wings wrapped protectively around them both. There was a peaceful expression on her face as her body relaxed and her breathing slowed. Before closing her eyes for the final time, Si Xin murmured her thanks and in gratitude, offered her body as a vessel for the angel to use should she ever need to appear physically on Earth. Carolyn tearfully accepted and held her close throughout the night, vanishing only in the morning when the nurses came in to deliver breakfast._

_The piercing whistle of the boiling kettle snaps John out of his thoughts. Preparing two cups of tea, he makes his way to the living room and hands one over to Carolyn, who has already put away the newspaper, before sinking into the opposite couch to nurse his own. The two sit and drink in silence for several minutes until Carolyn clears her throat._

" _John," she says, locking eyes with him. "I… I just want to say thank you. For everything. You have been very kind and understanding with me and I… I don't know if I can ever repay you..."_

" _Don't worry about it," John replies, smiling. "It was my pleasure. You've been an… interesting flatmate," he gestures towards her hidden feathery appendages. "I'm really glad to have met you."_

_Sighing, Carolyn places her empty cup on the table and stands up. "I don't want to leave, but… I have duties to attend to," she frowns sadly, looking dejectedly away. John puts down his own cup and moves towards her._

" _I understand," he assures. "Really, it's all fine. We'll still be friends, right?"_

" _Always," Carolyn confirms, nodding determinedly. "I probably won't be able to visit regularly, but I promise you this, John Watson. If you ever need my help, just call my name, make a wish, and I will come."_

_The serious expression on her face startles him slightly. "That's… er, good to know, I guess. Thanks?"_

" _I mean it, John. I am in your debt. It's the least I can do after what you have done for me."_

" _Right, sure. I'll keep that in mind," John eyebrows are raised slightly in confusion, but he accepts anyway. His arms open automatically as Carolyn reaches forward and envelops him in a hug, burying her face in his shoulder._

" _I'm going to miss you so much. You and your jumpers and tea," comes her muffled voice as she squeezes tighter. John laughs and pulls her closer._

" _I'll miss you too, but are you telling me there's no tea in heaven?"_

" _Of course there is!" Carolyn pulls away, looking scandalised at the very idea. "But no one makes them like you do. I'll personally make sure there's a tea-brewing job reserved for you when you come up. Not for a really long time, I hope."_

" _Very thoughtful of you," John deadpans._

_Carolyn giggles and releases him, grinning brightly. "Take care of yourself, John."_

" _You too, Carolyn."_

_She leans forward to place a chaste kiss on his lips and suddenly John finds himself enveloped in a pair of snow-white wings – Carolyn's fully-healed wings – and when he opens his eyes which he does not realise he had closed, he finds that he is standing alone in his living room._

_John blinks for a few seconds, looking around at his empty surroundings. He smiles when he catches sight of a long white feather resting next to Carolyn's teacup._

* * *

"So, what do you say?"

John looks at his companion and smiles. "Carolyn, get me out of here."

The angel flashes him a grin and offers her hand in invitation. "Come on," she says, eyes twinkling with delight. "Let's go for a walk."

As he reaches to hold her hand, John notices that somewhere during the course of their talk, they have somehow made their way to the park and are currently standing at the entrance gates. Carolyn gives a gentle tug and leads him towards a path straddled by rows of trees, unwatched by Mycroft's cameras. They take a leisurely stroll as John admires the view and relaxes in the peaceful atmosphere of tranquillity.

Even as his mind is buzzing with anticipation and excitement, it occurs to him to ask where she is leading him, but before he can voice his query, he feels a strong gust of wind blowing at him followed by the sensation of being enveloped in warmth. John sighs softly and closes his eyes to bask in the soothing feeling.

And when he opens them, he suddenly finds that he is no longer in London.


	6. Limbo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own BBC Sherlock.

It has been five years since The Fall.

Two years since the world's only consulting detective destroyed the final thread of Moriarty's criminal web.

Three years since John Watson disappeared.

* * *

"Go for it, mate!"

Putting on his best encouraging smile, John pats his colleague on the back and gives him a light shove. Alvin nods before taking in a deep breath and breaks into a confident stride towards Jeri at the end of the hallway.

John looks on with amusement as the other man's bravado steadily deflates the closer he gets to her. He chuckles at the way the normally cool doctor stammers his invitation to a coffee with her after work. Evidently Jeri is free in the evening as John observes the way Alvin's features light up and he grins like Christmas has come early.

Alvin and Jeri are the first two friends John makes in his new home. They are his colleagues, fellow doctors in the hospital he now works at. Having been scheduled similar shifts, they see one another very often and although John is the oldest of the three, the age difference is only by a couple of years and they get along very well.

With a few years' worth more experience, John finds himself giving advice to Alvin, both of the professional and romantic type. The younger doctor is enthusiastic in his job and has a mischievous sense of humour that is somehow rendered useless when it comes to Jeri, who can fire back witty retorts and banters with him like nobody's business. She is considered small for her age but her body is toned with regular exercise and her mind is quick and sharp to blunt Alvin's wicked charm.

There are times, especially during lunch with them at the cafeteria, when John silently observes as Alvin and Jeri lose themselves in verbal tennis matches, that he thinks of Mike Stanford, Sarah Sawyer and Molly Hooper.

He misses them sometimes.

* * *

Sherlock had spent the final third of his three-year hiatus tracking down Sebastian Moran with the motivation that the sooner he takes down Moriarty's right-hand man, the sooner he can start searching for John. Mycroft continues to keep an eye out for any signs of the doctor, but the real work begins after the Colonel is finally behind bars.

He starts with the girl.

Li Si Xin. Born on 6 May 1972 in Xiamen, Fujian, China. Spent three years in a private school before her wealthy parents packed her bags and sent her off to several prestigious mental institutions around the globe. Records from the aforementioned institutions report that the patient had nightly episodes and was unresponsive to any types of medical treatment or counselling. Details indicate that the nature of her illness was linked to the supernatural as the patient was often found screaming about monsters and demons. One institution had even brought in a priest to help but the results were fruitless.

At the age of 20, she died on 4 June 1992 in Baltimore, Maryland, USA. The patient had spent nearly a decade in the last institution her parents had brought and abandoned her to. The patient died in her sleep and was found by nurses the next morning. Medical cause of death unknown.

Mycroft has provided him with every scrap of information on Li Si Xin, so much that Sherlock is able to map out her entire life and trace her echoes in history. As far as he knows, John's own path in life had never crossed hers, so how is it possible that they knew each other? And where did the name "Carolyn" come from?

Insufficient data. More research required. Sherlock fires off a quick text to his brother to demand for his file on John. Something unpleasant stirs in his gut and Sherlock attributes it to the fact that he is invading his friend's privacy by going through his whole life on paper. Nevertheless, the feeling is swiftly clamped down on and shoved aside in favour of cold, hard determination to find him.

His phone vibrates on the table and chimes with an incoming message. Sherlock snatches it up and with a forceful press of a button, scans calculating eyes over Mycroft's reply. The sickening feeling returns with a vengeance and Sherlock's pounding heart drops into his empty stomach as the blood drains from his face.

_Who is John? – MH_

* * *

"He's just so – so – ARGH!"

"Good morning to you too Bella," John greets with amusement as the tall receptionist fumes and types furiously into the computer while gritting her teeth and glaring at the screen.

"Hey John," she sighs, looking up at him through thick-rimmed glasses and managing a weak smile as he signs in for the morning.

"So what did Nick do this time?" he asks absently. As Bella launches into her daily morning rant, John listens on with a faint grin on his face.

Nick from IT is the bane of Bella's existence. The two annoy and hurl insults at each other on a regular basis and it is an unspoken rule that they are not to be allowed in the same room for more than five minutes lest things start flying. It is not so difficult to keep them apart since Bella works at the main counter in the lobby of the hospital, but Nick's job involves him moving around the building quite a bit and guess which entrance he chooses to take every day to get inside?

Alvin and Jeri have given up trying to separate them and have simply decided to sit back and watch the show when Nick and Bella cross paths. Out of curiosity and slight suspicion, John had asked Alvin during one of their lunches if Nick's behaviour was a subtle form of flirting with the receptionist. The other doctor had choked on his coffee at the idea.

Their relationship is pure friendly animosity, John is assured. They do not really hate each other, it is just how their weird friendship works. Also, while Bella is bi, Nick is gay. Jeri confirms that the two have no romantic interest in each other before narrowing her eyes at him.

"Why? Are you interested in one of them?" she asks with raised eyebrows.

It is John's turn to choke on his tea as he splutters out a negative response. Gratefully accepting a napkin from a chuckling Alvin, John feels that denying more-than-platonic interest between colleagues suddenly seems very familiar.

He thinks of the Yard and wonders how things are going between Donovan and Anderson.

* * *

It is four months into his search for John when Mycroft's message sends his world screeching to a halt. Needless to say, Sherlock bursts into his brother's office within the hour to demand answers. Mycroft's first move is to pick up the phone on his desk and call Mrs Hudson, putting her on loudspeaker. The detective drops into a chair and listens to their conversation as he tries to piece the answers together.

On hindsight, Mrs Hudson had been the first warning that something was wrong.

It had taken quite a while to calm her down when Sherlock first turned up at the doorstep of 221B three years after his fake suicide. When he had finally deemed it appropriate to ask about his missing flatmate, he barely caught the way his landlady's eyes seemed to glaze over for the barest of seconds before she burst into another round of tears. Sherlock remembers awkwardly wrapping an arm around her shoulders in an attempt to comfort her as she sobbed about returning to the flat one day to find John's belongings gone.

There had been a lot of empty space in the flat when Sherlock moved back in. He assumed Mrs Hudson had kept the place clean during the year she lived alone after John's disappearance. Every available surface has been turned into a workstation filled with scraps of papers, photos, maps and other information and research on his possible whereabouts, all scattered in a form of organised chaos, and as Sherlock rearranges his mind palace to slot in the information gleaned from Mycroft's and Mrs Hudson's conversation, one thing becomes frighteningly clear.

Mrs Hudson does not remember the year John went missing.

Sherlock is still trying to rationalise and process the new turn of events after Mycroft politely thanks Mrs Hudson for her help and hangs up. To her, John had only disappeared for a few days before Sherlock returned from the dead. She does not remember touching any of his belongings while he was absent.

Now that Sherlock thinks about it, 221B looks just like how it had been before that fateful day at St. Bart's when Mike Stanford first introduced them. The flat is devoid of anything  _John_  –

As if the doctor had never walked into his life in the first place.

But how? Something must have happened during that year. Mycroft's cameras had shown John leaving the flat with nothing more than his keys, phone and wallet. Over the course of the year, there had been no record of anybody removing anything from flat. So how did –

"Sherlock," Mycroft says, frowning at him. The older Holmes sighs and prepares to deliver the bad news as his brother snaps out of his reverie.

He looks on with sympathetic eyes as he explains how every record of one John Hamish Watson has mysteriously vanished. Be they on paper or electronic, John's files have disappeared, along with records of his birth, education, military service and essentially every other piece of information about him.

It is as if he had never existed at all.

* * *

"Here you go guys."

"Thanks Josh."

"Cheers mate."

Alvin and John retrieve their cups from the tray as Josh pulls out a chair at their table and sinks into it with a relieved sigh. Reaching for his own cup of coffee, he takes in a big gulp and moans in pleasure.

"Busy morning?" asks Alvin as he brings his cup to his lips and takes a tentative sip.

"Yeah," replies Josh, rubbing at his half-lidded eyes. "Had a rough night too, didn't sleep well."

Josh is the barista working at the café near the hospital. John and Alvin often go there for a coffee/tea break and the young man usually joins them if they happen to come in during his lunch break. Although he is nearly two decades younger than both of them, Josh has a friendly and cheerful demeanour which allows him to relate to others easily. He also has a knack for being able to tell which drink his customers want before they even place their order. Alvin had taken an immediate liking to him and the two had have gotten to be as close as father and son. In fact, that was exactly what John had confused them for when Alvin had first introduced him.

"How's Lynn doing, John?" asks Josh, turning to face him. John smiles at the genuine interest he is taking in their work and goes on to share about his patient.

Of course John leaves out the confidential details, but he does talk about how the little girl stares out her window every time she wakes up and chats excitedly with him about what she plans to do once she is well enough to leave her bed and go outdoors. Lynn was born with a weak heart and has spent most of her childhood in a hospital ward, but she admirably maintains a positive attitude towards her life and looks forward to the days when she can finally play with her friends outside.

The three of them continue to chat and drink until lunch time draws to an end. Josh picks up their cups and places them on a tray before preparing to return to the counter for his shift.

"Well, I gotta head back now. Duty calls," grins Josh with a mock salute. "See ya!"

Alvin and John wave back at him pleasantly as they say their own goodbyes. After a quick clean-up, they exit the café and walk back to the hospital.

"We still on for tonight?" asks Alvin as they approach the main entrance. John nods an affirmative in response. He has taken to meeting Alvin and Nick regularly at a bar for drinks and just to hang out. They would occasionally see Josh there too, when he has part-time shifts scheduled then.

Between the cups of tea at the café and pints of drinks at the bar, John finds himself thinking of Mrs Hudson and Lestrade.

* * *

With all tangible traces of John's existence wiped out, Sherlock goes for memory.

His landlady has forgotten John for a year and it is only when the detective brings him up that she starts to remember. It is the same for Lestrade and the Yard and this time, Sherlock notices the glaze in their eyes as they try to recall the doctor.

Mycroft's message had nearly given him a heart attack and Sherlock has to restrain himself from physically lashing out at his brother when he discovers that it had been a ruse to get him to his office in the shortest time possible to explain the situation. Nevertheless, he is unnerved when Mycroft admits that there were days when he had lapsed and wondered who his cameras were looking out for. After all, "short stocky blond man" is too vague a description for his underlings to identify the doctor accurately.

Logically, the next step is to get in touch with other people who knew the doctor personally. Sherlock curses himself for not paying more attention when John told stories about his army days or shared about his outings with old friends at the pub, realising that the only things remaining in his mind palace regarding the mostly one-sided conversations are the events that transpired rather than the people themselves. Luckily, Mrs Hudson is able to give him a name.

Bill Murray looks surprised when the consulting detective turns up at his door to ask about his blogger. He has to be reminded that he had served beside a Captain John Watson, RAMC, Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, before his eyes light up in recognition. Unfortunately, he has not been in touch with the doctor for some time and he is just about to shut the door with an apology when Sherlock suddenly asks for proof of John's existence.

Puzzled, but seeing no harm in allowing his friend's flatmate inside his apartment, Bill Murray leads him into a room where he keeps his memories. He talks about several photographs, capturing images of himself, John and other soldiers during their tours of duty, as well as John's dog tags which had been given to him as a symbol of their brotherhood.

The military drills the principle of keeping things in order deep into their soldiers, so it is a wonder that Bill Murray finds himself scratching his head in confusion when the items he mentioned are not where he had seen them last. He searches for close to an hour before throwing his hands up in resignation and delivering another apology to the detective for not being able to help.

And as Sherlock is shown to the door, he realises that the former soldier seems neither concerned nor surprised at the disappearance of his former brother-in-arms and the precious mementos that anchor his memories.

* * *

"How long has it been?"

"Two and a half years, give or take. Why?"

"Just curious. I can't remember how time passes here."

"It's roughly two months to a year and it's been around five months since you arrived… so, about two and a half years."

"… How's Mrs Hudson?"

"She's well. In good health and often goes next door to visit Mrs Turner. The Detective Inspector comes by every now and then to check up on her too."

"Lestrade? How's he? And Harry – how's everyone?"

"They're fine. All moving on with their lives. That's not to say you don't matter to them, though."

"I know, I know. They don't remember me at all. I still can't believe you practically erased me from existence."

"It's… cleaner that way. Might be better for some people too, like your landlady. It'll be sparing her from memories of being alone in the flat."

"I guess I'll have to thank you for that then. And for everything else too."

"Nonsense, it's the least I can do for you. I have to admit though, I was a little annoyed that you didn't think of me more often. I could have lent you a hand several times if you'd only ask."

"Sorry about that. I don't know how your offer slipped my mind. Sometimes I still wonder if I had imagined the whole thing."

"Please don't take offense at this, but that was why I nudged you into remembering me when you started planning your next move."

"Wait, you're saying you… influenced me?"

"Something like that, yeah. Are you angry?"

"No, no… on hindsight, it's probably a good thing you did. I wouldn't have been able to get out of London otherwise."

"That's reassuring to hear. So how are things going for you?"

"Good, good. Ah, work is fine. Josh and I are helping Alvin and Jeri along with their relationship, I get daily entertainment from Bella and Nick, pub nights with the guys are… interesting, to say the least. And visiting Lynn always seems to cheer me up."

"Sounds like you're having fun."

"I am, but there's just one thing I've been meaning to ask. Where do all these people come from? Are they like me, with angels for friends? You told me this isn't heaven, so obviously we're not dead, just somewhere in-between."

"Yes, well, it's a little complicated to explain. Some people here are like you, living their second chance to start their lives over. Some are angels in disguise, visiting their wards like I am now. Some are from… down below, and they're the source of the not-so-crime-free environment here. I mean, this clearly isn't utopia, otherwise there'll be people all clamouring to come here."

"What about the patients at the hospital? Surely they can't be here for the sake of a change in scenery."

"You're right. Those in the hospital are of a slightly different case. They are… in a sense, manifestations of actual human lives on Earth. People in comas, at the brink of death, fighting for their lives… some of them find themselves here. You know how miracles happen in the medical field? It's all due to the efforts of the doctors here. Your work in the hospital is making a very real difference in the world below. When you save a patient, you may very well have woken someone up from a year-long coma, or restarted their heart under a defibrillator."

"That's… that's incredible. I never thought – hold on, do they remember any of this?"

"I'm afraid not, due to certain rules in place. You sure didn't."

"Wait, you're saying –"

"One word: Afghanistan."

* * *

Harriet Watson had been the final straw.

Sherlock is already feeling uncharacteristically frantic and desperate by the time he arrives at her apartment. If there is anyone who will remember John Watson without having to be prompted with reminders, surely it has to be his sister, the only lead he has left.

Answering the door in a drunken haze, the dishevelled alcoholic barely waits for the consulting detective to finish asking about her younger sibling before screaming "I HAVE NO BROTHER!" and slamming the door in his face.

Logical reasoning dictates that the older Watson has had her mental processes impaired by the many drinks in her system, but by that point in time, Sherlock is already beyond rationalising.

Hearing the doctor's only living blood relative declare that she is the only one left slams down the final nail in the coffin.

People have forgotten John Watson. No one remembers him and no one cares.

Sherlock Holmes has never felt more alone.


	7. Full Circle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to all those who have supported me throughout this fic, be it through leaving kudos or simply reading whenever there's a new update. I really appreciate you lovely people ^_^
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own BBC Sherlock.

One month after their last meeting finds John sitting in his usual seat at the café having tea with Carolyn. She seems to sense that he is thinking of how to put his thoughts into words, so she waits patiently in silence. It is approximately fifteen minutes after their drinks had been served when John finally speaks.

"I think I'm ready to go home now," he says calmly, locking eyes with Carolyn.

The angel nods. She knows he is not referring to the flat he is currently living in. "Alright," she replies. "I'll take care of the papers needed for terminating the lease for your flat and your resignation at the hospital. All you have to do is pack your bags and let me know when you're ready to leave."

"Thanks Carolyn. I hope it's not too much trouble," apologises John. "I mean, with me gone, the staff will be one down and I feel like a real git for leaving w–"

"John, it's okay!" she rushes to assure him. "Trust me, many doctors have chosen to leave when they felt ready to move on with lives. You're not the first and you definitely will not be the last." Mock glaring, she continues, "and believe me when I say you have made a very real difference in the world below with your work, so don't feel bad for leaving, you hear? Never doubt yourself, John Watson."

Slightly startled, John can only flush in embarrassment at the unexpected praise and smile shyly. "Will I remember all of this?" he asks, gesturing around him.

"Yes. You'll keep your memories of this place and your existence will be restored once I bring you back. It'll seem as if you had never left at all," explains Carolyn.

John looks thoughtful for a moment. Looking away, he brings his cup to his lips and takes an appreciative sip of his tea. "How long has it been?" he asks after a while.

"Three years," comes the immediate answer.

"… Do you know if Sherlock's back?" John asks hesitantly.

Carolyn nods.

"… Is he?"

"Yes."

"How long?"

"Two years. It's been two years since he returned and started searching for you."

"What?" John's eyes grow wide. "He's been… looking for me?"

"Without success, if I may add," Carolyn says smugly. "I erased every last physical trace of you. Not even Mycroft Holmes could give him a solid lead."

"But you said no one would remember me, so how is it that Sherlock noticed my absence?" John frowns in puzzlement.

The angel gives him a mischievous look and answers cryptically, "let's just say the two of you share a very special connection that made it practically impossible for you to be deleted from his mind."

She does not seem inclined to elaborate, so John is left to interpret her words on his own.

* * *

A man at the desk squints at his screen and peers closer, bringing up his glasses. Eyes widening, he looks back and forth rapidly between the images on his monitor and the hospital files on the table. Standing up abruptly, his chair flying backwards to slam against a table, he gives a shout to his superiors.

"Sir! You have to see this!" he yells across the room.

* * *

"I have to ask, John. Do you regret coming here?"

The doctor pauses in the midst of his packing and turns around to find Carolyn leaning against the dresser in his room. He shakes his head.

"It's been… Whenever Sherlock and I got into rows, I'd usually get out of the flat and go for a walk to clear my mind so that I don't do or say anything I'll regret later," he explains. "Coming here has sort of been like going for that walk outside. It helped to put things in perspective for me. If I had stayed in London, I'd probably have gone insane with anger and bitterness."

Carolyn nods. "Does this mean you forgive him?"

"Ha!" John barks out a harsh laugh. "Hell, no. It just means I've become willing to listen to him explain before letting loose and throwing in a punch or two. Whatever the reason, that bastard shouldn't have lied to me."

"Oh John," sighs the angel as she moves to embrace him. "Are you sure you're ready to go back? It's not too late to change your mind and stay for a while longer."

"Thanks for the offer Carolyn, but I can't run away forever," he admits. "I mean, sooner or later I'll have to go back and face him. Sherlock hurt a lot of people and made them suffer with that stunt of his, but he's not the sociopath he claims to be. I'm sure – no, I know there's a reason why he did it. I was just too angry to see it before, but now I think I'm ready to talk things through with him."

"Alright then," Carolyn concedes and pulls away from him. "If you're sure, I won't force you to stay. Besides, I bet you miss your crime-fighting lifestyle, don't you?" she winks knowingly.

"You caught me," John grins. "As exciting as shifts in the A&E and trauma wards are, I don't think my adrenaline addiction is quite satisfied with them. It's just not the same as chasing criminals across rooftops. Er – I'm not saying life isn't good here, b–"

"Calm down! I get it," she laughs as the doctor starts backpedalling verbally. "Don't worry, I'm just glad you were happy with your time here." Smiling, Carolyn starts to make her way to the door.

"I'll pick you up on Saturday at ten in the morning. Use your last few days here well, John."

* * *

_Li Si Xin spotted at Regent's Park. She is not alone – MH_

* * *

John opens his eyes to find himself in a familiar setting, surrounded by trees. It is the exact same spot where the angel had spirited him away.

"This is… Regent's Park?" he asks, looking around as he slowly catches his breath. The transportation process never ceases to amaze him. Carolyn had said that it involves her wrapping her wings around them both in order to bring them to where they want to go, which explains the sensation of being enveloped in a blanket of warmth and comfort, but the actual technicalities are still rather complex, so John has long given up on trying to understand and settles for simply enjoying the ride.

"Yup," chirps Carolyn. "Thought I'd give you a few minutes to get ready before your inevitable reunion."

"What do you m – a few? Baker Street's at least a twenty minute walk away!"

"Right, but we'll be heading in that direction."

The doctor looks towards where Carolyn's finger is pointing and realises that they will be leaving a blind spot. The moment they step past the long bench next to them, they will reappear on the radar. In other words, Mycroft will know where they are. John can only nod dumbly in understanding.

"I give it no more than ten minutes for Sherlock to find you," grins Carolyn.

John chuckles with a mixture of relief and gratitude, turning to face her. "Carolyn, thank you. For everything," he says sincerely. "You've done so much to help me. I don't know how I can ever return the favour…"

"You saved my life," replies the angel, smiling fondly. "Nothing I do will ever come close to repaying that debt."

Straightening up, John takes a deep breath to steel himself. Exhaling sharply and nodding in determination, he offers a hand to his companion and quirks his lips in a half-smirk. "Just for a little while more. Let's go for a walk," he says, echoing her words.

Carolyn's laugh sounds like bells in a church and she happily accepts his offer, latching onto his arm.

* * *

Mrs Hudson jumps slightly when she sees the detective practically vault down the stairs and rush for the front door. She tuts at the way he leaves it open during his mad dash outside.

* * *

Exactly eight minutes later, Carolyn stops walking. John feels a light tug on his arms and stops as well.

"Carolyn?" he asks, tilting his head. The angel gives him a knowing look and John's eyes widen in realisation. "He's here."

She nods. "I believe it's time for me to take my leave."

The reality of the situation, of everything that has happened since The Fall, of all the months he has spent in the sanctuary, sinks in and John feels the need to choke down a lump in his throat. His gut churns in anticipation of seeing his flatmate again after five years of separation, yet there is a strange fluttering in his heart at the thought. Still, the doctor is able to manage a grateful word of thanks to his guardian.

"Remember John," she smiles. "If you ever need me, just call my name, make a wish, and I will come. You have my word."

"I know," John grins back before reaching forward and crushing her in a tight embrace. Carolyn hugs back with equal intensity and laughs softly.

"Take care of yourself, John. It was good to see you again," she whispers in his ear before giving him a peck on the cheek and pulling away. John notices that she has stepped back in the direction of the blind spot in Regent's Park. It is time for him to bid her farewell.

"Goodbye, Carolyn."

The angel smiles at him fondly but does not answer. Instead, she throws him a friendly salute and turns her back to walk away.

In the distance, John hears the sound of rapid footsteps approaching. Grinning to himself, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Memories of the two years he had endured without the detective, thinking he was dead, floods his mind and although there is residual hurt and disappointment, there is no anger or fury. Bitterness had left him during his cathartic stay in the in-between and now John feels calm, ready and determined to face his life again.

Opening his eyes and exhaling evenly, he turns on the spot to find a rather dishevelled Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective, standing just a few feet in front of him, panting hard with wide eyes and trembling hands.

John smiles in greeting.

"Hello, Sherlock."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you so much for reading. I hope you've enjoyed this story as much as I did writing it :)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Comments are greatly appreciated :)


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